


the toronto purchase

by Pinkmanite



Series: in love and war [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, Reaction, this is really a story of willy and everyone who loves him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: Willy is so sure that he doesn't even think twice before the answer leaves his lips. “Kyle has told me multiple times that as long as he’s here he’s not going to trade me.”He knows how it sounds. He sees the way the media gives him a sympathetic look, but Willy knows how much Kyle means it, he knows.And that’s all that really matters here.(can technically be read as standalone without reading the previous!)





	the toronto purchase

**Author's Note:**

> I'm baaaaack (and so is Willy!) 😉
> 
> So because this is canon-compliant, technically it can be read on its own without reading the previous. However, I do recommend reading _the geneva contract_ first for the complete experience. 
> 
> If you're choosing to skip out on Part One or if it's been a while since you've read it, here's what you missed on glee:  
> • Willy and Kyle are in an established relationship  
> • There's a big fight where they weren't talking to each other, around the time Willy left to Stockholm for the rest of the summer  
> • They make up because Kyle flies out to Europe to meet up with him and personally apologize  
> • And we leave off in Zurich and pick up the next morning  
> enjoy!
> 
> Also, here's the disclaimer since popular twitter accounts like to talk about Kyle/Willy fanfiction to a large audience so much:  
> If you or anyone you know in real life is mentioned, do everyone a favor and just pretend you never saw this, leave. Just go and do that. This is fake, this isn't real, it's imaginary, it's fiction. These are characters being depicted, and are not accurate portrayals of the actual people in which they are based on. I don't own anyone or anything mentioned.  
> Additionally, please please please do not repost any parts of this work or the link to this work in any public spaces. I ask you to please keep this only within the HRPF community. For everyone's sake. Thank you!  
> 

As far as mornings go, it could be better.

Willy goes to practice, aches like a bitch all over, accidentally spills coffee in his rental car (and on himself), and is already running late for another stupid contract meeting that he probably doesn’t even need to be at.

Okay, it could be going _a lot_ better, actually.

It’s fine, though, really, because there’s enough day left to turn things around. And besides, he and Kyle are good now, more than good actually, and if Willy tries hard enough to get back on track for the day, he’ll have plenty of time to spend with Kyle before he flies out.

That’s the goal, anyway.

He tries to focus on that, the possibility of seeing Kyle at all, rather than getting upset about all the dumb reasons he can’t just spend all day with him. It’s really hard, and he’s thinking he might try to talk his way out of contract meetings, maybe tell his dad he’s sick or sore or whatever.

He fumbles with his hotel key, still coming up with more and more of a plan in his head. He’s so preoccupied that he almost misses the set up waiting for him on the desk.

Oh, that fucker.

Willy smiles to himself, once the realization starts to settle in. It’s nothing too fancy, just a box of local chocolates and a card, the envelope boasting _Mister William Nylander_ in familiar loopy handwriting.

He texts Kyle immediately, doesn’t even care that his pants are still soaked in rapidly cooling (and staining) coffee. He’s still running late for his meeting but for this, he can spare just a second.

~

_hey be good today, I have big plans for tonight **💙** _

~

“Good morning, Will, nice of you to join us,” his dad says, doesn’t miss a beat, when Willy finally makes it to the conference room. Although he’d been expecting it, he still grimaces and hangs his head appropriately.

Willy notices the empty pastry box on the table, and his dad must see him take a glance, because he pointedly chooses that moment to take a bite out of his croissant. Well, Willy figures he must’ve inherited his attitude from somewhere.

It’s whatever, he doesn’t need some dumb meeting pastries when he’s already had Kyle’s fancy little chocolates. Way better breakfast, anyway.

“We’ll have to give you the short version to catch you up,” Gross pipes up, a poor attempt to break the tension and maybe push this along. “We’ve only got half an hour until Dubas joins us.”

Willy looks up at that, maybe a little too sharply. “Dubas is coming?”

“Don’t worry,” Willy’s dad softens, misinterpreting Willy’s piqued interest for nerves. Little does he know. “We’ll handle most of it, it’ll just be good for you to be present and observe.”

Yeah, alright, if Kyle’s gonna be here, there will most definitely be things for Willy to _observe_ . But, his dad and his agent definitely do _not_ need to know that, so he plays into his dad’s assumptions and nods solemnly.

It seems to be enough because Gross jumps into it, talks negotiation strategy or whatever. They reiterate what they’re looking for, emphasize that they’re trying to get some kind of no-trade clause here. That’s the ultimate goal, really, the money is what it is by now. But that’s not why they’re still here in Europe in the middle of October. And they’ll try to drive that home with Leafs management.

But. There’s still the stupid list of teams, ranked on a scale of one through three, that Willy had signed off on yesterday. Gross has the papers filed somewhere, but they’re still burning a hole in Willy’s conscious. Nothing’s for sure, not in business, not even with Kyle on his side.

Willy hates it, but he has to keep reminding himself of the possibility, just to keep things grounded.

“Our goal is to make sure you play in Toronto for as long as you can,” his dad tries while he tidies up the table and throws away the pastry box. He gives Willy a weak smile. It’s both a reassurance and reminder, right before they welcome Kyle into the room.

“Good morning,” Kyle grins, wide and bright as ever, briefcase in hand. “Lewis, Michael,” he shakes their hands. Then he turns to Willy, and his smile doesn’t change, but his eyes light up maybe just a little more. He holds his hand out and Willy takes it. “William.”

Willy tries to keep to his media smile, but he can't help the fluttery feeling in his chest, the natural urge to use the handshake to pull Kyle in for the hug, instead. It’s almost cruel, the fact that he’s limited to a stupid handshake when all he ever wants is to _touch_ and to _hold_.

Kyle maybe sees this in him because he squeezes his hand, just a little, and winks at him when no one else is looking. And, well, Willy is so gone for him.

Gross had been sitting across from Willy, and his dad between them, so it just ends up with Kyle sitting at the only open edge of the, directly on Willy’s other side. At first, Willy is a little disappointed, because that means he can’t just openly stare at him the entire time. He’s stuck with stealing quick, fleeting glances, and it’s almost cruel. Kyle is right there, inches away, and he can’t even ogle him.

So Willy sits there, maybe a little restless and maybe zoning out a little when Gross and Kyle start getting technical. He’s got a legal pad in front of him, probably for taking notes or whatever, but Willy sees the opportunity. Squiggle practice.

He’s got it pretty much locked by now, but it’s been a long offseason, doesn't hurt to practice. His autograph is an art, it deserves to be in midseason form by the time he’s back.

Willy’s got maybe half the sheet filled with different sized autographs and signatures (they’re different, okay, because apparently it’s not appropriate to sign legal documents with your jersey number in the corner) when he feels a nudge at his leg, stealthily under the table.

When he looks up, his dad is glaring at him out of the corner of his eye. Kyle and Gross are pretty deep into it, so there’s no way either of them noticed. Which means his dad is just being, well, his dad. Still, Willy knows better than to push it, so he reluctantly flips the page and sets his pen down.

Even folds his hands in his lap.

His dad kind of squints at him in warning, then returns to the conversation at hand. Willy doesn’t go back to doodling, but eventually he starts zoning out again and he figures fidgeting would be better than falling asleep right on the table. So he picks up his pen again and starts twirling it through his fingers in a steady rhythm. No one calls him out, and he’s soon zoning out again.

He doesn’t even realize he bouncing his knee until he feels a hand on it, firm enough to make him go still. It takes him a second to realize that it’s not his dad this time. It’s on the other side, and the hand is warm, gentle in its touch, maybe even soothing.

Kyle rubs his knee in a back and forth motion a few times, slow but deliberately so. Enough to make Willy concentrate on it, to ground him. Eventually, once Willy has calmed and focused back into the conversation enough, Kyle rubs a couple circles with his thumb, just barely on the side of Willy’s thigh. He stops with the motions, but he doesn’t remove his hand. It’s a steady presence, enough of a weight to remind Willy that Kyle is here. Here _with_ him.

The meeting feels like it goes a lot faster from that point on. Willy actually pays attention to some of the negotiation talk, even throws in a few questions, a couple opinions in. It’s enough to impress his dad, who apparently hadn’t expected much from him at all. It’s kind of upsetting, but then Kyle’s tracing patterns on his thigh again and Willy can’t find it in himself to get too riled up about it.

“I think that should do it for now,” Gross eventually says in one long exhale. “We’ll continue remotely, but,” he shuffles his papers back into the appropriate folders, “I think we made some progress here.”

Kyle nods and starts to collect his own things. “Absolutely, I think we’re a lot closer than before.”

“It’s just a matter of getting that no-trade security,” Gross says, and his tone says it in jest, but his face says everything that matters. Willy swallows uncomfortably, watching it all play out.

But Kyle handles it like every ounce of a professional he is, lets it wash over him and smiles, not too wide, but properly soft. “You know it’s difficult, logistically, but we truly do want William to know how strongly we feel about keeping him as long as we can.”

Gross does something of a scoff, but Kyle ignores it and turns to Willy instead. “In fact, I was wondering if you’d care to join me for lunch, Will?” Kyle shuts his briefcase and starts to zip it up. “I’d like to reiterate how much we value you in our core. It’d be my treat.”

“Dubas,” Willy’s dad starts, warning in his voice.

“It’s fine,” Willy says to his dad, and it’s at the same time Gross speak up, too.

“No worries, Michael,” Lewis says. He pauses when he realizes Willy had spoken, too, but then he continues. “William’s observed enough about negotiations to handle his own. It might be good for him to hear more about the Leafs intentions.” Gross shrugs, then looks to Willy. “Personally, I say it’s up to William.”

Willy’s dad doesn’t look completely convinced, but he eventually gives in. “Alright, then. We’ll catch up later, then.” He turns to Kyle. “None of this is official business, but it’s completely on record, alright?”

Kyle nods. “Definitely.”

It might not be his blessing, but it’s good enough. Willy shrugs on his coat and is more than relieved to let Kyle lead the way.

~

This time, Kyle takes him to a proper Michelin star restaurant, more in tune with their nicer date nights back in Toronto. It’s incredibly over the top, its self-proclaimed genre is _haute french_ and it’s housed in a glass building overlooking the Schanzengraben Canal. It’s velour chairs and white tablecloths as bleach-white and pristine as the fine china.

Willy doesn’t like to confine himself to upscale dining exclusively, but he’s been raised to have a high appreciation for it. Which, is the polite way of saying that he’s always more than enthusiastic to satisfy his everlasting craving for freshly shaved truffle.

Kyle settles in his chair, gets his linen napkin properly spread over his lap, and only then grins across the table at Willy. “Get whatever you want, this is technically official Leafs business. Company card,” he says a little too devilishly, and in all honesty, it’s incredibly charming.

Well. _Willy_ is incredibly charmed, at least.

It’s off-peak hours, the odd time between lunch and dinner rushes, so it’s not too difficult for Kyle to pull some strings and get them a secluded table in a back wing, away from the scattered few other diners. But it’s still midday in a literal glass building and there aren’t NDAs around this time around, so Willy knows he has to behave.

This is, after all, supposed to be business.

“So,” Willy says, flicking through the wine list, “aren’t you supposed to convince me why you won’t get rid of me.”

He keeps a straight face for maybe a grand total of three seconds before he can’t help it and he’s grinning, holding back full on laughter.

Kyle rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, too. “I’ll list all the reasons I’d never let you leave Toronto, I will. It’ll take all afternoon and probably the night, too, but I’ll do it.”

“Mm,” Willy hums, as if he’s considering it. “I think there’s some other things I’d like to do in that time.”

“Oh yeah?” Kyle plucks the wine list from his hands and starts browsing it himself. “What did you have in mind?”

But Willy doesn’t fold. He leans in, just a little, and lets his voice go low. “You’ll have to tell me, what with your _big plans_ , yeah?”

Kyle doesn't look up, but he grins wide and just a little dubiously. “Good, you remembered.”

Satisfied, Willy leans back into his chair. “Couldn’t ever forget.” He starts messing with his cufflinks, turning them under his fingers. “But. I am serious about hearing why you’re so sure management, as a group, won’t trade me.”

“Oh,” and it isn’t so much that it takes Kyle by surprise, but he still wasn’t quite expecting that. “Yeah, of course. But I thought you knew?” He trails off.

Willy shifts a little uncomfortably in his chair. “You know I believe you and I trust you, but. It’s a _business_ and I can’t expect you to put your whole career on the line just because we’re together. I’d never ask that of you.”

“You don’t have to ask, I would turn down Connor McDavid for you.”

And, it’s supposed to be lighthearted, it’s supposed to be a joke, but it doesn’t sit well with Willy. “But that’s what I mean, I don’t _want_ you to do something stupid like pass up on McDavid for me.” Kyle opens his mouth but Willy waves a vague hand around at him, a sign to let him think and finish his thought. “Besides, it’s not just you, you’re a management _group,_ what happens when you’re the only one trying to keep me. What then?”

Kyle goes a little more somber, a little straighter. But, he leans in closer, too, reaches across until he can take Willy’s hand in his own.

“But I don’t mean it personally, not totally, at least. Okay, maybe McDavid is a little bit of a stretch, but the _principle_ is that _you’re_ part of the core, _you’re_ part of the plan. You fit like a puzzle piece into this team. You have chemistry with our guys, you have history in our system, you have a place carved out already bespoke to you.”

Kyle squeezes his hand. “You’re part of the _plan_.”

Willy closes his eyes, takes a deep, steady breath. Counts it out.

“Kyle,” Willy finally says, labored, careful. “I want to be a Toronto Maple Leaf until the day I leave the NHL.”

Kyle rubs a circle over his knuckles. “That’s what we want, too.”

“I,” Willy stops, then starts again. “I want you to promise me.”

Kyle waits, lets him continue on his own.

“And I swear to god, you can only promise me if you absolutely mean it. Because I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it if you don’t.” There’s the barest hint of a waver in Willy’s voice, probably unnoticeable to anyone who isn’t Kyle, but definitely there. “I’ll know, you know I’ll be able to tell.”

Kyle sighs, finally fully takes Willy’s hand and gives it a squeeze, just like earlier. “William Andrew Michael, on the record, I promise that as long as it’s in my power, I will do absolutely everything I can to keep you on this team. You _are_ the core. Never forget that.”

Willy swallows. It’s scary, but.

He really, truly believes him.

~

By the end of dinner, Willy is at least one bottle of wine’s worth tipsy, because there was no way that he and Kyle would’ve been able to choose just one. Especially not when they have the blessing of the company card.

“Eh,” Kyle had reasoned, “finance knows you have expensive tastes. It’s an investment.”

Willy feels like he should maybe be a little offended, but he’s too buzzed to really mind, and well. It’s not like it’s a completely false statement.

Given it was official business, it’s not strange for them to take a cab back together. They behave themselves, because they aren’t drunk, aren’t messy enough for poor decisions, but they do sit a little closer than necessary, thighs pressed together along the seams of their suddenly too-hot, too-tight slacks.

But it’s alright, it’s not a long way to the hotel and they’re back soon enough. There’s no one else in the elevator with them, so Kyle hits the buttons for both their floors and leans in until his lips brush the skin behind Willy’s ear.

“Drop off you stuff, wait ten minutes, and then come up to mine. Knock three times.” It’s low, breathy, and topped off with a wet kiss, sloppy but quick, on Willy’s neck. “Okay?”

If Willy wasn’t flustered before, he is now, cheeks bright red and the tips of his ears beginning to pinken. He nods furiously, too choked up to make his lips move and form the words.

“Mm,” Kyle hums, pulling away completely this time. “That’s fine for now, but I’m going to need verbals by the time you’re upstairs.”

“Okay,” Willy manages, voice rough.

The elevator dings and starts to open for the seventh floor. Kyle nudges lightly on the small of Willy’s back.

“See you in ten.”

~

Ten minutes isn’t enough time to properly shower or anything, but Willy freshens up, changes into a tee-shirt and sweats, and fluffs his back up. He isn’t nervous or anxious, but the anticipation of what Kyle thought was enough to _plan out_ is a little intimidating.

And besides, there’s that terrible thought in the back of his head, reminding him that this may be the last time he sees Kyle in person for a while. A long while, in the absolute worst case scenario. He doesn’t want think about it, but he knows he has to consider the concept of it in order to properly savor whatever they do tonight.

The timer on Willy’s phone goes off, too-loud and shrill in what was otherwise silence. He grabs it quickly and thumbs it off, dutifully pocketing it. He takes one last look in the mirror, fluffs his hair up one last time.

Up to the ninth floor, then.

The elevator ride, realistically, is maybe five seconds long. But Willy is restless, practically bouncing with it, so it feels like an absolute eternity until there’s finally a buzz for the ninth floor, the doors sliding open soon after.

Willy’s muscle memory take him the rest of the way until, for the second time in twenty-four hours, he’s standing at Kyle’s door and knocking twice, pausing, then knocking once more.

The door opens almost immediately, and Willy is being pulled in all over again.

Kyle lips are on his immediately, desperate and demanding, tongue already pushing in past the seam of Willy’s lips. It’s easy, natural, to melt into it, to open up and let Kyle in, let him trace every inch of his body, his mouth, like his life depends on it.

Every movement blends together, so Willy isn’t really sure when his shirt gets tugged over his head of when Kyle wiggles out of his own. He gets lost in the feeling of Kyle’s hands wandering over his arms, his chest, his abs, doesn’t even notice Kyle tugging down his sweats until they’re wrapped around his angles and he’s desperately trying to kick them off.

He doesn’t know when exactly they stumble onto the bed, equally stripped down to their boxers, but it happens at some point, and that’s all that really matters here. Especially when Kyle presses them together, skin to skin. Priorities.

There’s urgency, there always is when it’s them, but it’s slow enough to savor, too, a deliberate pace to let it all sink in, to commit it to memory. Kyle takes his time, tracing every curve and jut of Willy’s body, kissing him deep, with purpose, all the while.

“You’re perfect,” Kyle whispers against his lips, then kisses him again. “You’re absolutely everything to me, you know that?”

Willy can’t help it, he gasps, leans up to kiss Kyle again and again. “Kyle, Kyle,” he chants, breathless.

And Kyle holds him close, tender but strong, pulls them together like he needs to feel every inch of Willy against him, like he needs him closer than close. His lips wander, kissing along Willy’s neck, inching toward his ear.

“I wanna show you how much you mean to me,” Kyle murmurs, rumbly against his skin. “I wanna show you why I can never let you go.”

“Mmm,” Willy leans into it, “is that what your big plans were all along? To take me to bed?”

“No, not just take you to bed,” Kyle rolls his eyes, like Willy’s completely missed the point, here. “I want to show you just how much I love you. I want to _prove it_ to you.”

It’s Willy turn to scoff, now. “And how is that different than every other time we’ve fucked?”

Now, if Willy didn’t know Kyle as well as he does, he would probably miss the way Kyle stills, miss the way his cheeks begin to dust with the hint of pink. But Willy knows Kyle pretty well, and suddenly he realizes that there’s a lot more laid out for tonight.

Willy shifts, his voice goes lower, his gaze grows darker. “You have something special in mind, don’t you, Ky?”

He watches Kyle swallow, watched the bob of his adam’s apple. Willy doesn’t deny that he was already pretty turned on, but now the dial has been maxed out.

Kyle reaches to the floor and gropes around through their discarded clothes, haphazardly scattered, until he finds what he’s looking for. It’s his tie, the one from earlier today. It’s plain, just solid Toronto blue in a silky fabric. It’s a thinner cut, more familiar to European style, but it’s still wide enough to be business-appropriate.

He holds it up so Willy can properly see.

“I want to tie your you hands up so you can’t touch,” Kyle starts to explain, “and then I want to explore every inch of your body until you can’t come anymore, until you’re so come-dumb that you can barely speak.”

Willy inhales sharply, and the noise of it rings in the otherwise dead-silent room.

“What do you think?” Kyle dangles the tie until it just barely brushes over Willy’s nipple, a dusting of the cool edges, gone just as quickly as it had come.

“Yeah, okay,” Willy says, trying but failing to keep his voice even. He coughs, and he says more stable, perhaps a bit of a challenge. “Show me what you’ve got, then.” He leans back into the pillows, pliant and waiting.

And, Kyle Dubas is never one to back down from a challenge.

He goes back in on kissing him, softer now but just as firm, just as passionately as before. It’s an easy excuse to distract Willy, and it works, because Willy doesn’t even realize Kyle’s got his wrists collected in one hand, pinned above his head.

“Good?” Kyle murmurs, low enough that it vibrates against Willy’s lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” Willy confirms, pushes for more.

Kyle grins before taking his lips again, keeping his hands working. He wraps the tie around Willy’s wrists, holding them together. He ties it off, slips a couple of fingers under it, just to make sure it’s not too tight.

He moves his kisses to Willy’s neck, sucks lightly but not enough to mark. “Comfortable?”

Willy tugs his hands apart, testing the knot. After a couple of pulls, he nods. “It’s good.”

“Perfect,” Kyle says against his neck, now moving to trail his mouth down his chest. “Keep them above your head for me. Let me do the rest.”

Kyle starts simple enough, takes one of Willy’s nipples into his mouth and sucks at it, steady. He uses one hand to pinch at the other one, uses his free hand to trace patterns over the bony curve at Willy’s hip.

Willy lets out a gasp, soft but still there, and it’s enough to egg Kyle on, to make him go a little bit harder, to get his teeth involved. It’s everything Willy loves, and he arches into it, subconsciously pushes his chest further against Kyle’s lips.

Kyle switches sides, peers up at Willy just to check his reactions. They make eye contact and god, Kyle looks so devastating, it drives Willy insane. That must be the reaction Kyle was going for, because he chooses that moment to get his free hand on Willy’s dick, palming it through his underwear.

“Fuck, fuck,” Willy breathes out, overwhelmed with the sensations.

Kyle hums against his chest. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Please,” Willy says without really knowing what he’s asking for. But he does roll his hips into Kyle’s touch, chasing after _something._

He doesn’t really need to specify, though, because Kyle’s already moving, sucking a lazy line from his chest to his navel, then down even further, licking at the skin just above his boxers.

Willy can practically feel him smirk against his skin, right before Kyle take the waistband of his boxers between his teeth, pulls them back until they snap back against his skin.

“Come on,” Willy squirms when he does it again. “Come on, come on.”

It’s then that Kyle finally pulls them down, a little with his mouth, but mostly with him thumbs dug under the elastic, gently pulling them down and brushing over Willy’s sides. He goes deliberately slow, makes Willy wait through it.

When he finally get them off, he doesn’t come back right away. He holds Willy by the ankle, just barely pulls one leg out, holds it up off the bed by an inch.

“You’re the most gorgeous being in the world,” Kyle sighs, kissing lightly along the curve of his calf, up behind his knee, then to the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. He nips a little, once he makes it there, and Willy _keens,_ high and breathy.

But Kyle doesn’t pause there, he has other things in mind. It isn’t long before Willy feels his presence, feels his breath, hovering just over his dick.

It twitches, out of his control. Embarrassed, Willy turns his head and hides his face in his arm.

“No, no,” Kyle says, and Willy can _feel_ the words ghost over his dick. “Come on, baby, I want you to watch, okay? Can you watch for me?”

Willy groans, but Kyle rubs softly at the joint of his hip, just smalls circles with his thumb, so Willy slowly untucks his face and peers down at where Kyle’s settled between his thighs.

“There we go,” Kyle hums, “that’s good, babe. Are you good?”

Swallowing, Willy manages a quiet little “yes, yes, yes.”

It’s the green light Kyle was waiting for, so he doesn’t hesitate any longer. He spreads Willy’s thighs a little further, then goes down, uses the broad of his tongue to lick up from his hole all the way up over his balls.

Willy wants, wants to get his hands in Kyle’s hair and touch him and egg him on. But he tugs at his wrists and is reminded of his bingins, Kyle’s personal touch, a reminder to behave himself. “Fuck,” is what he settles on instead.

Kyle swirls his tongue around Willy’s hole, teasing. He pushes against it, not enough to go in, but pressure nonetheless. Willy jerks into it, feels his breathing pick up, his heartbeat start to accelerate.

Sliding his hands up Willy’s sides, Kyle rests them on his hips, holds Willy still, steady, for him. He sucks over his hole, kisses it, even, the returns to licking around it, alternating between broad strokes and firm touches.

“Fuck, please,” Willy says, “come on Kyle, come _on._ ”

And Kyle listens, maybe because he asked nicely. He licks over Willy’s hole one more time, then moves up and up until he’s level with Willy’s cock, fully hard now. Kyle looks up once, locks eyes with Willy, and takes the head into his mouth.

“Shit, shit,” Willy gasps.

One hand stays firmly on Willy’s hip, keeping him in place, but the other fists tightly around the base of Willy’s dick, pumps him in long upstrokes, quick downstrokes, methodical. Kyle keeps suckling at the head, keeps working his tongue over the slit and around the mass of it.

Willy tugs at his arms again, almost gives up on following direction, because he wants to touch, wants to feel it. But Kyle had said, so.

He continues to obey. He wants to be good.

Kyle pops off for a second, just to readjust, but he doesn’t waste the moment, uses it to rile Willy up even more. “So good for me, baby. Just wanna get my mouth all over you,” he breathes. “You’re perfect.”

When goes down again, he takes more of Willy’s dick, deeper and deeper, sucking hard and fast and hallowing his cheeks until Willy swears he can see the outline of his dick pressed against Kyle’s face.

God, what a fucking image.

But it doesn’t stop there, because Kyle had readjusted so he could hold Willy down with his forearm, angled conveniently so he can jerk him off with the same hand. Willy had lost track of the other, but he’s reminded of it when Kyle snakes his fingers between his ass cheeks, circle over his hole.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Willy leans into it reflexively. “Kyle, oh my god.”

Kyle just hums an affirmative, and the vibrations make Willy groan.

He must’ve lubed up when Willy wasn’t looking, because he pushes one slick finger in, slow but firm. He fucks it in and out a couple of times, in time with every bob of his head on Willy’s dick.

It’s so overwhelming that Willy almost slips up. He moves his arms together, makes it down to his chest before he realizes and quickly puts them back over his head. “Please, just, please,” he tries.

Kyle responds by adding another finger now, continuing to pump them in and out. The stretch is good, it’s familiar, and Willy melts into it. Kyle pauses for a split second, but then the angle is different and he’s driving in and in and suddenly Willy feels like he’s been punched in the gut with pure pleasure, especially when Kyle doesn’t let up on his prostate.

He’s gone back to just the tip in his mouth, but it’s fine because that’s the way Willy prefers it. Hard sucks and tongue-work, Kyle’s palm the perfect pressure around the rest, pumping him there.

When Kyle adds a third, Willy knows he’s not going to last for long.

“I’m right there,” he manages to warn, but instead of pulling away, it’s like Kyle gets a new burst of energy. He pumps him faster, sucks him harder. The fingers in his ass drive into his spot and Willy is gasping, little chants of _‘please’_ and _‘fuck’_ and _‘kyle’_ dripping from his lips.

And that’s how he comes, hot in Kyle’s mouth and swallowed down dutifully by an expert. Willy’s not certain, but if you told him he’ blacked out for a second there, he’d believe you without a single doubt.

By the time he’s recovered enough to gain a sense of what’s going on, he’s panting, absolutely breathless, and feeling so incredibly spent and loose. He looks up and finds Kyle, who’s sitting up on his knees, looking at him so intensely, so incredibly _fond,_ that Willy groans and has to blink hard just to compose himself.

Kyle’s almost there, and Willy can tell from his breathing, from the way he’s tugging at his dick, the rhythmless motions, the heave of his chest. It’s not long at all until he’s spilling over Willy’s stomach and chest, murmuring sweet nothings and Willy’s name like he’s never heard it before.

He collapses next to Willy, a thud into the space of mattress next to him. There’s a second where he regains his bearings, catches his breath. But as soon as he’s somewhat coherent again, which isn’t long at all, he moves to Willy’s wrists, carefully undoes the knot.

As soon as Willy is free, he takes each wrist in his hands, rubs gentle circles over the joints until he’s satisfied, then kisses each one, soft and sweet.

They stay like that for a while, gross and messy but cuddled up close, anyway. Willy tucks his face into the crook of Kyle’s neck, likes it there the most. He tries to savor it, tries to commit this feeling to memory, knowing that he’ll need for just a little while long.

But eventually, the exhaustion of coming wears off, and Willy is having a little too much fun tracing the juts and falls of Kyle’s muscles, a little too much fun nipping almost-hickeys into his collarbone.

Willy props himself up by his forearm, rested gently on Kyle’s chest. He grins. “Ready for round two?”

Kyle groans, but he doesn’t wait a single second before he’s tackling him back into the sheets.

~

“Come on,” Willy whispers softly against the jut of Kyle’s jaw, placing a gently string of chaste little kisses along the curve of it. “Time to wake up, babe.”

Kyle groans, almost whiny, and Willy can’t help it but laugh. He gently shakes Kyle’s shoulder, getting him the rest of the way awake, and promptly kissing him in full once he blinks his eyes open.

“Good morning to you, too,” Kyle says, rough from sleep.

Willy rolls off of him and reaches until he finds Kyle’s glasses on the nightstand and gently presses them into Kyle’s hand. “Come on, go get ready and finish packing. I’ll drop you off on my way to the rink.”

“Hm?” Kyle sits up and stretches, wincing when he cracks his back, his arms. He rubs his eyes and slides his glasses back on, blinking until he starts to process what’s going on. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can take a cab.”

Willy looks up from the pile of clothes on the floor he’d been searching though. He pluck his shirt out of the mix, but blinks at Kyle before throwing it over his head. “Don’t be dumb, it’s on my way, it’s no trouble.” He pauses to get it the rest of the way on. “Besides, that’s just a few more minutes together. I’ll take it.”

Again, it takes Kyle a little longer to process it, long enough for Willy to find his sweats and pull those on, too. But Kyle eventually gets there and nods. “Okay. Okay, yeah. You’re right, that’s perfect.”

“Good,” Willy beams. He hits the power button on the kettle plugged in at the desk and sets out a mug and an instant coffee packet. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in half an hour, okay?”

“Got it,” Kyle says, quicker this time. He finds his phone and sets the timer, holds it up so Willy can see.

Satisfied, Willy takes that as a good enough sign to leave Kyle to finish getting ready. He has his own stuff to do real quick before practice, so he heads back down to his own room, thankful that he doesn’t bump into anyone along the way.

Willy showers quickly, changes into jeans and a nicer hoodie, and grabs his shit. By the time he gets down to the lobby and hands his stub to valet, Kyle is finally wandering out, too. He’s still a little groggy, not as alert as usual, but he’s fresh and polished and dragging his suitcase behind him.

It sucks, watching Kyle’s thing get loaded into the trunk and watching Kyle slide into the passenger side of the rental car. Pretty soon, Kyle will be on his way back to Toronto by himself, without Willy at his side.

The car smells like stale coffee and it throws Will sharply out of his pity fest and back into focus. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, “I spilled my coffee in here yesterday.”

Kyle just laughs. “I didn’t even notice.”

And, it’s light from there, through the entire drive from the hotel in downtown Zurich to the airport. The sun is mid-rise, pinks and oranges and yellows creeping up the horizon. Willy loves the way the light colors Kyle’s edges, spread over him like watery brushstrokes. Loves the way the golds bring out the lighter parts, shining brilliantly, in his hair.

He wishes he didn’t have to say goodbye.

They pull up to the proper terminal and it’s like everything drops, especially Willy’s stomach. It’s silent between them, maybe for just a split second, but it feels like forever.

Finally, Willy breaks. “I’m really going to miss you,” he admits, all in one shaky breath.

And that’s all it takes, all it takes for Kyle to frown and reach across until he can fully embrace Willy and hold him to his chest. He strokes nimble fingers through Willy’s hair, soothes him through it until Willy is ready to compose himself. Once he pulls away, Kyle tips his chin back and kisses him, hard and fast, but with so much emotion, so much _love_ , that Willy can feel it tingling on his lips, even after he’s already pulled away.

“I love you so much,” Kyle whispers, barely an inch away. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Please,” Willy says, perhaps too desperately. “Make it soon. Bring me home.”

“I will, I promise,” Kyle exhales all at once, “I promise, I promise.”

Willy nods, swallows.

He believes him.

~

Willy’s got a little while in Zurich before he heads back to Stockholm, and while he’s never been stingy on luxury, he decides to make the most of his few days and treat himself a little bit more than usual.

Which is how he ends up FaceTiming Kappy in the middle of his much anticipated red wine bath. He’s a little annoyed when his phone first goes off, but then again, he _was_ getting a little bored just soaking there by himself, so he graciously decides to entertain Kappy’s unexpected call.

 _“Uh,”_ Kappy says as soon as he shows up on the screen. _“The hell’s on your face?”_

Willy blinks. Oh yeah, he forgot about that — that, being the cucumber foam facemask currently spread over his face. Woops. “I’m at the spa,” Willy says, as if that explains everything. Kappy kind of looks at him, and then probably gives up on trying to wrap his head around it.

 _“Alright then.”_ He decides. _“I’m just, gonna not comment on the bloodbath? As in, the literal bath of blood?”_

“You’re an idiot,” Willy doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s not blood, it’s wine.”

Kappy’s face gets even more expressive. _“Okay, I’m just going to stop commenting on your, er, spa day or whatever.”_

“Good call,” Willy hums, closing his eyes and sinking further into the bath. He uses the kickstand on the back of his phone to prop it up on the lip of the tub. It’s a good enough view, Kappy can see most of his face and he can mostly see Kappy. “So, what’s up?”

 _“Dunno, just. Checking up on you, really.”_ And Kappy’s dancing around something, but Willy doesn’t push just yet.

“I’m really enjoying my wine bath, the healing powers are real. I got out of practice maybe an hour and a half ago but I feel rejuvenated already,” he sighs contentedly and waves his hand around vaguely.

He can see Kappy roll his eyes on screen.

_“Okay well I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself over there. Real pampered lifestyle, how will you ever re-adjust to our shitty little apartment ever again?”_

“It’s not shitty,” Willy frowns, reflexive. “It’s one of the nicest buildings in the city. We did _research_.”

But Kappy laughs on the other end. _“You did, and yeah, you’re right.”_ But then Kappy trails off and Willy knows he’ll have to step in for this one.

“Tell me what’s really on your mind, Kas.” And Willy sits up a little more, blinks his eyes fully open again.

The mood changes, then, and it drops so fast it’s almost concerning. Kappy is unsteady, he takes a deep, long breath, audible over the speaker. He runs a hand through his hair a few times but then finally settles, looking more sad than anything.

Willy frowns.

 _“I really did just want to check in with you,”_ Kappy starts, _“but, specifically I just need you to know that I’m just keeping your spot warm, okay? I don’t— I’m not— I can’t ever replace you, you know that, right?”_

And, that’s not what Willy had been expecting. He won’t lie, those kinds of thoughts _have_ crossed his mind, especially when everyone and their mother seems to be pushing that narrative, but never would Willy ever pin that on Kappy.

The way Kappy is looking at him, so apologetic and unfortunate, is the last thing that Willy ever wants. “Hey, hey,” Willy says, “I know, of course I know that. You’re playing your best hockey, and that’s incredible. I’m so fucking proud of you, dude.”

Kappy swallows, tries to smile, but it’s wobbly. _“Everyone says I’m coming for your spot but I’m not, I swear.”_

“If you take my spot, you’ll have earned it,” Willy admits, and it doesn’t feel like a lie. “Scoring goals is good. This kind of talk is good. I’m serious, man, I’m _proud_ of you.”

Kappy nods. There’s a beat, a sigh, then, _“the apartment’s too empty without you.”_

Willy can practically hear the unsaid, the ‘ _I’m lonely by myself out here’_ and it nearly breaks his heart. He sighs, tries not to show too much of a frown, mostly to avoid letting on to Kappy, but also for the sake of keeping his facemask from cracking.

He means it, more than he means a lot of things, when he admits it, quiet, barely enough for his phone to pick up. But he knows it does, because Kappy bites his lip and nods, an agreement.

“I miss you, too.”

~

Usually when Willy lands at Arlanda, it’s kind of a relief, a sort of welcomed feeling. It’s usually much-needed and something he looks forward to, relaxes into. Usually, his family meets him at arrivals and it’s kind of a release, a moment he’s associated with letting go for the off-season and finally getting to relax in warm Swedish summers with his sisters and his childhood friends.

But when Willy lands in Arlanda this time, it’s mid-October and he’s already set to grab his own bags and uber back to his empty apartment, left to himself. It’s the same airport, the same terminals, but it feels heavy, muted, and void of the usual comfort he’s used to.

He shouldn’t be flying into Arlanda right now, he should be flying into Pearson, day in and day out, and leaving his heart out on the ice in different hockey cities. Not letting it bleed out onto the streets of Stockholm. But there’s nothing he can do, not immediately, not right now, so he grabs his suitcase, calls his uber, and goes home to his empty apartment.

Willy doesn’t like feeling this way, doesn’t like letting it stew in his head, so he does the most logical thing any professional hockey player would do. He hits the gym and goes hard and hard and hard until he’s tired himself out.

He doesn’t even unpack or anything; drops his bags by the door, immediately changes into gym clothes, and goes straight downstairs. It’s a blur, whatever it is he does once he gets there. It’s autopilot, muscle memory after spending his whole life in weight rooms and on exercise machines. It’s good, good for tuning everything out.

That is, until he hears his name over the gym speakers, crisp in solid Canadian English. And, lo and behold, when he looks up, that’s his roster picture on the television, accompanied by the TSN sports desk.

Willy knows he should look away, but once again, he just _can’t_.

Curiously, though, another roster picture slides up and joins his this time. It’s Auston’s.

_“—and Matthews is out with another shoulder injury so—”_

That’s all he catches before it hits him, before it processes, and he suddenly has a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. Back on auto-pilot, he goes through his cool down routine, taking everything he has in him to resist rushing through it.

By the time he’s finished and in the elevator back upstairs, he’s got Auston’s contact pulled up on his phone and his thumb pressing the _Call_ button.

Fuck.

~

_“Yeah, dude, honestly I’m fine, I’m just really fucking_ bored _,”_ Auston gripes over the shitty XBox audio. Initially when Willy had called, he’d declined it and texted him jump on XBox live instead. Willy rolled his eyes but agreed, nonetheless.

Auston refuses to play Fortnite, just because he won’t admit that he’s an even shittier loser than he is a shitty Fortnite player, so they’re queuing up the new Black Ops, even though COD is clearly for old people now.

Come on, Aus, _Naz_ likes COD for fuck’s sake.

“I hear Babs said they’re taking you on the roadie, though?” Willy shrugs. “Oh hey, can we do Zombies?”

He hears Auston sigh, maybe a little too dramatic, through his headphones. _“Fine, we can play Zombies, but you’re like an actual child.”_

Willy laughs. “Fine by me, considering you’re making me play old people video games.”

_“It’s a classic, okay!”_

“‘Classic’ is a nice way to say ‘old,’” Willy points out.

 _“Fine, fine,”_ Auston hits ready and they start to queue into a round. _“But anyway, yeah, I’m still going on the California trip.”_

Willy finds a barrier and starts boarding it up, careful to keep tabs on Auston, who he knows tends to forget to watch his back. Willy would rather not play personal medic if he can nip it in the bud instead. But Auston’s character is fine, for now, anyway. “Watch some Netflix, pick up a hobby. You’ll be fine, man.”

 _“I’ll get through it.”_ Willy can practically hear Auston shrug, but he can picture it clearly anyway. _“It just really fucking sucks that I can’t be out there playing when everyone else is.”_

And, that hits Willy pretty hard, a heavy pang in his chest that churns and churns. He knew how he felt, he always knew, but hearing it described to a tee by someone else feels that much more worse. It’s like a confirmation, a validation, and it’s piercing in its clarity.

He stumbles in the game, thumbs accidentally slipping off the joysticks. He almost gets overtaken by a hoard of zombies, but he clears them with only a little difficulty and returns to his barrier. He swallows, then, almost confessional, “I feel that, dude. Like. It’s the exact same thing, here. I’m with you.”

Willy sees Auston’s character freeze on screen, even in the middle of a wave. He’s down in a second, but before Willy can react, Auston’s talking all at once over the game audio.

 _“It’s literally not the same at all, how can you say that?”_ He’s not yelling but it’s a near thing. It feels like it, anyway.

Which, Willy thinks is entirely unfair. He frowns, starts to feel heat rise up in his chest, the anger starting to form. “I’m supposed to be playing right now, too,” he says, short. “In case you forgot where half your goals come from.”

 _“Don’t even go there,”_ Auston seethes. _“Like you can take the credit, I’ve been doing just fine over here while you’ve been hiding in fucking Sweden.”_

It’s like everything comes out all at once, like the closet has been opened and everything that had been stuffed in there finally comes tumbling out in one big crash. Willy feels like it all falls right on top him, buries him.

“Fuck you,” Willy settles on, shaky. “What do _you_ know. I want to be there just as much as any guy, if not more. And it fucking sucks being _here_.”

 _“Well maybe you should consider,”_ Auston says, somehow both calculatingly careful yet impulsive all at once, _“some of us don’t have a_ choice _like you do.”_

It’s a blow right where it hurts the most, and Willy feels like the wind’s been knocked right out of him.

He opens his mouth to fight back, face hot in anger and frustration, but before he can get the words out, the audio cuts and the pop-up appears to announce that Auston’s gone offline.

It’s familiar enough by now, but Willy still aches.

~

He and Auston don’t talk after that, which really sucks because Willy knows he’s the one person who’s around and who gets it. Well, in concept, anyway, but apparently not in theory. Doesn’t matter, though, when Willy knows he’s sitting at home watching highlights when he should be the one on the screen, and that Auston is doing the exact same thing on the other side of the ocean.

It’s whatever, though, it is what it is and they’ll probably get over it eventually, but it sucks in the moment, especially with everything else going on. So in a last ditch attempt to try to pull it all together, he calls up his mother and lets her know that he’ll be coming for dinner tonight, if that’s alright.

He gets an ‘ _of course, that’s always more than alright, älskling’_ for his troubles and, while it doesn’t heal everything, it helps more than anyone — Willy himself included — could imagine.

That’s how he ends up at his family’s house, chopping vegetables on a friday night. It’s just outside Stockholm, snuggled in a quiet suburb that Willy likes to think of as his real childhood home. While Willy had only lived here year-round for a couple of years, it had always been the one constant by the end. It’s grounding, every time he returns here. It’s what he needed. Needs.

It’s nice, chatting about easy things, simple things, with his mom and sisters. Nothing is about hockey or business or Toronto at all. It’s just them, and Willy is more than happy to slip into stories about tennis practice and equestrian and the upcoming school play.

Really, the only upside of the holdout has been the extra time with his little sisters. But, even so, it’s been weird to come home to a nearly empty house, one that is usually overflowing with his siblings in the off-season, but is quiet now, with only his two youngest sisters still living at home.

If Willy thinks about it too much, it’s another reminder that he shouldn’t be here right now. If he thinks about it too much, he’ll be starkly reminded that he is out of place, even here.

But he tries, tries not to think about it too much. Focuses on stories of grade school drama and disagreeable teammates.

It’s enough to tide them through until dinner, even partially through it, too. It’s light and it’s good, and even their dad leans closer and listens carefully to every tale of grandeur that the girls remember and excitedly insist they tell.

It reminds Willy of simpler times, easier days.

“What have _you_ been up to, Wille?” It’s an innocent enough question, drippingly sweet coming from a little twelve year old girl. Willy’s heart melts, but he feels the mood in the room shift uncomfortably from the vague direction of his parents.

“Wille went to Schweiz,” his other sister pipes up. “They have _very good chocolate_ in Schweiz,” and Willy doesn’t even need to look at her or hear her tone to pick up on what she’s loaded into that statement.

“I want Schweizisk chocolates,” the younger one pouts, maybe a borderline whine. Yep, they’re definitely all related.

Willy rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, still. “Well I think it’s your lucky day,” he singsongs. “There might be souvenirs for you after dinner. If you finish your vegetables, anyway.” He winks.

They finish off their plates in record time, and for those few moments conversations stays light. Willy tells his family about seeing his other sister while she’d been in Zurich for a tournament, tells them about his crazy red wine bath, the beautiful mountain views along his drive to the rink.

It’s light, but there’s an underlying buildup, and Willy is already dreading it.

“I’ve finished my vegetables,” Willy’s youngest sister finally declares, proudly setting down her fork. “I believe I was promised chocolates.”

It’s enough to make Willy laugh, bright genuine, even despite the feeling churning in his stomach. “Alright, alright,” he grins, “they’re in my bag by the door. There’s two boxes, one for each of you, okay?”

He motions for her to come over and she practically skips over to him, sees Willy’s outstretched arms and throws herself into the hug. She giggles when Willy gives her a peck on her forehead and pats her back to send her on her way.

His other sister grins, sets her own cutlery down and stacks her plater with her sister’s. She picks them up to take to the kitchen but stops by Willy on the way, pauses just for a second and kisses his cheek sweetly. “Thanks, storebror,” she says, then heads into the kitchen.

And then suddenly, it’s just Willy and his parents. And the elephant in the room.

“So,” Willy starts, stretching out the word, just to get this over and done with.

His dad sighs, put out, the facade finally falling with his sisters out of the room. “For some reason, Leafs management really believes that you’ll take a deal without the written no-trade security.”

Ah, so that’s what the meeting today must’ve been about. His dad had seemed quite pressed. He still does, actually.

When Willy doesn’t answer, his dad continues. “What exactly did you say to Dubas after that meeting?”

It’s moments like these where Willy is eternally grateful for a lifetime of media training. It feels a little weird to use it on his dad like this, considering it was instilled in him _because_ of his dad’s career, but well, desperate times.

He focuses on keeping his expression neutral, on keeping his face from going red with the memories of Kyle’s assurances.

“They seem really sincere,” is all Willy offers up. “Honestly, I’m ready to take the deal.”

That seems to be the wrong thing to say, because his mom grimaces at the same time his dad crosses his arms and frowns. “Don’t be an idiot, William. You can’t trust management. It’s a business.”

Well, he’s all in at this point, anyway. “I know, I know, but. It makes sense. I understand the perspective. And I think it’s okay.”

It’s enough for his dad to dismiss him completely, because he turns to his mom instead. “This is why we hire agents. So incredibly naive,” he grumbles.

“Michael,” his mom tries to placate him. “It’s Wille’s career.”

But his dad shakes his head, then focuses a hard look back at Willy. “If you want to be stupid and throw it all away, be my guest.”

Usually, Willy is stronger than to let it get to him, but his dad’s words drip in disappointment and disapproval and suddenly it’s mixing together with the flashes of memories he has with Kyle, promising him everything a million times over. It’s a clash, an ugly clash, the mix of it, and it’s suddenly all too much.

It’s too much.

He barely mumbles a half-hearted _‘excuse me’_ before he’s getting up, grabbing his things, and out the front door.

~

When Willy gets home, he falls into his couch, checks the world clock on his phone, and promptly calls Kyle.

 _“Hey, babe,”_ Kyle picks up on the third ring, and he sounds relaxed, cheery. _“Isn’t it late over there?”_

“Yeah, but I—” he stops, tries to control his voice. But it’s too late, Kyle already knows him more than anyone else does, Kyle already knows that something is up.

 _“Hey, hey,”_ Kyle’s voice changes immediately, softer, gentler now. _“It’s alright, I’m here. Whatever it is, you can tell me, you can cry it out, I won’t judge, okay? I’m here, babe, I’m here.”_

There’s nothing Willy wants more than to have Kyle with him right now, to snuggle in close and let him hold him tight. He feels like too much, too much without Kyle to keep him grounded. But Kyle keeps talking, low whispers and reassurances, and soon enough Willy latches onto them until he can calm down.

He takes a deep breath, steadying. He knows it sounds dramatic, but it’s what he feels, and Kyle said he wouldn’t judge so. “Everything is falling apart.”

 _“Break it down, babe,”_ Kyle doesn’t miss a beat. _“‘Everything’ is a lot until you break it into chunks. So let’s do that first, okay? What are the little pieces?”_

And it’s stuff like that, that slowly brings Willy back down until he can properly think and talk it out over the phone. It’s on speaker, so he sets it on the armrest, lets himself lean further into the throw pillows, and pulls his favorite throw blanket tightly around himself.

“I’m fighting with Auston and I got upset with my parents,” Willy finally summarizes, all in one breath.

_“Okay, okay,” Kyle soothes. “Do you want to talk about it? Is it sitting in your head?”_

“Mhm.”

_“Okay, then I think you should talk it out, if you’re comfortable to.”_

Willy thinks about it for a second, but Kyle is probably right. Vocalizing it will at least feel a little better, even if it doesn’t solve anything.

“Okay, I— okay.”

_“Little pieces, alright? Let’s start with Auston.”_

Willy nods, even though Kyle can’t see it, but it helps him with steadying himself, and that’s what really matters. “It’s a dumb fight, really,” he starts, but then he remembers that it’s just Kyle, and he starts over, gets into the details of it. It’s hard to explain, because he has to explain how he feels, too, but Kyle does his best to just listen, to just try and understand.

 _“I think there’s just a lot of misplaced tension,”_ Kyle says, once Willy’s decidedly finished recounting the argument. _“You guys are so close you’ll work it out. Just talk to him.”_

But. “I’m scared,” Willy admits.

 _“Of what?”_ It’s not condescending, it’s more on the side of curious. Gentle.

“Of losing him? I guess?” Willy hears himself, is surprised with how put out he sounds.

 _“He misses you more than you think,”_ Kyle says, like it’s something he wasn’t supposed to share with Willy. _“I can talk to him first, if you’d like? Just. To see where he’s at?”_

It’s a real offer, but Willy doesn’t want to put Kyle nor Auston through that. The easier option, the more likely successful option, is to do this himself. He’s known that, deep down, but it doesn’t feel as daunting anymore. “No, I think I have to talk to him myself, for the closure at least. You’re right, though, it’s easy to work out. With clearer heads.”

 _“Good, good,”_ Kyle says. _“Now that’s one chunk out of the way. Feel any better? Be honest.”_

Willy takes a second to think about, to evaluate his state right now compared to before. His breathing is even, his heartbeat is calmed. His face doesn’t feel as hot and he isn’t worried that he’ll cry, anymore. It’s not completely all good, but it _is_ better. He tells Kyle so. “I do, honestly. Not entirely amazing, but. Better.”

 _“It’s baby steps,”_ Kyle hums, approvingly. _“That’s good, babe, you’re doing good. Do you want to talk about your parents now?”_

The thing is, Willy _does_ want to talk it out, in general, but he isn’t sure that it’s an appropriate topic to discuss with Kyle, who is still his general manager. It’s a tough spot and Willy almost considers saying no, but he figures he might as well express it to Kyle. He trusts him enough to tell him where he draws the line.

“I do, but,” he swallows, “we were arguing about the negotiations, so if you don’t—”

 _“Hey, no,”_ Kyle interrupts him for the first time since they’ve started this lengthy call. _“This is a personal call, okay? Just as my boyfriend, nothing else.”_

Willy takes a second, just to breath. “If you’re sure.”

_“Absolutely.”_

So Willy recounts those events as well, makes sure to explain where his feelings were at the important points. Kyle listens, lets him talk it through, offering a word here or there just to let him know he’s still listening. Willy chugs through it like a champ, all the way up until the end, when tries to explain what exactly was going through his head before he upped and left.

“I just, I don’t know to explain it, but it was a lot of thoughts all at the same time and they just. They didn’t go together and I couldn’t just sit there anymore,” he exasperates, frustrated that he can’t find the right words.

 _“That’s alright,”_ Kyle stays calm. _“Some things just don’t have words that fully describe them. And that’s alright. I don’t have to understand everything, and neither do you, even if it’s in your own head. You just need to know enough to know where to go next.”_

“But that’s the thing,” Willy huffs. “I don’t know what to do from here.”

_“Well, let’s start with the obvious stuff, yeah? Break it down, little pieces.”_

“Okay, okay,” Willy tosses and turns from his spot on the couch, somehow unable to find a comfortable position again. “I guess should apologize for storming out of the house like that.”

_“Good. That’s fair. That’s a start.”_

“I guess the bigger issue is deciding what I’m going to do with this contract. You know I’m pretty much ready to take the deal. It’s just, the last thing I want is to disappoint my dad. I don’t think I could take it if he gets mad about it.” It’s like suddenly clarity, and the more Willy says it out loud, the more it makes sense. The clearer the path becomes.

_“Remember what I said, this is a personal conversation, as someone who cares about you, okay?”_

“Yeah.”

_“Don’t do anything to appease anyone else. It’s your life, Willy. It’s your career, your season. At the end of the day, it’s your decision. I don’t want to sway you in any direction when you’re like this, but I need you to know that much and figure out what that means for you.”_

Willy sighs, is sure that Kyle can hear it.

_“Think about it, you have plenty of time, okay? No matter what anyone says, you have time.”_

There’s a longer pause this time, where Willy lets the words settle, lets it get through his head until he’s fully processing it. He can Kyle breathing on the other end of the line.

Maybe it sounds like a subject change, but it doesn’t feel like one. “I know I just saw you, but. I really, _really_ miss you.”

 _“I miss you, too,”_ Kyle says, like it’s painful to recount. But. _“I’ll bring you home, babe. I will.”_

~

Even though he knows that everyone, especially in the league, says it, Willy is absolutely sure that his mom is the best mom. He calls her up and apologizes first thing the next morning, and she doesn’t have a single ill feeling about it. Instead, she worries over him and insists they have lunch that afternoon, just the two of them. Just to get his mind out of hockey and the negotiations for a little bit.

The only thing is that she makes him promise to apologize to his father, too. Not now, but eventually. Soon. Please.

Will can’t deny her anything, not even that. So he promises, one hundred percent sincerely, and knows he’ll have to go through with it or risk upsetting his poor mother. And there’s no way that Willy would ever do that. He’d rather turn to ash under his father’s wrath.

Which, at this rate, isn’t entirely unlikely to happen.

But, Willy has the rest of the day to work himself up to it, and a lunch date with his mom to look forward to in the meantime.

It’s still pretty early and he still has a little while before practice so he gets the kettle going and pops some bread into the toaster. What he doesn’t expect is a text this early, especially not from Kappy.

_i just had the weirdest dream where u signed & u were back and then i freaked out woke up & u werent signed & idk felt Weird, are u ok? _

Willy blinks at the message at his phone. He glances at the clock on his microwave, then, just to be sure, pulls up the world clock app on his phone. Concerned, he taps around the screen until he’s calling Kappy.

He speaks as soon as he hears the click when Kappy picks up. “Dude, it’s like three in the morning there.”

 _“I know, man,”_ he hears Kappy yawn through his words, _“that’s why I wanted to check on you. It felt like some kind of bad omen, idk.”_

Willy grimaces when he literally says I-D-K out loud, with his voice, but knows well enough that now isn’t the time to call him out on it. “I’m totally fine, I swear,” Willy assures him. “Are _you_ okay, though?”

It’s a second before Kappy responds. _“Yeah, I think. Just a little shaken up.”_

“Wanna talk it out?” Willy asks, taking one out of Kyle’s book. “I’m not doing anything right now.”

 _“I mean,”_ Kappy starts, kind of hesitant. _“It’s not like anything happened. It’s just kind of jarring? The dream just felt so real, like you were really back. And then I woke up and you weren’t.”_

It’s kind of scary, how much it resonates it Willy right then. He gets it, god does he get it. “I feel that, man, I really do. Soon, though, okay? Soon.”

He hears Kappy kind of sigh, and then is almost startled when Kapy starts to laugh, not completely mirthless, but getting there. _“It’s just crazy, that I’m having_ dreams _about this. Who knew I’d miss your ugly mug that much.”_

Willy grins now, though. “It’s alright, Kas. You’re probably not the only poor sucker dreaming ‘bout me. Join the club.”

And that gets a good laugh out of Kappy, a real one, bright and familiar. _“Nice to see the time off hasn’t changed your head one bit.”_

“Don’t worry,” Willy confirms. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough, bro.”

He means it.

~

It’s a few days until Willy finally finds the courage to confront his dad, because while he owes him an apology, he owes him an explanation even more. And that’s the scary part.

He swings by the house after practice, expects to be sat down and made to sit through what’s going to be the most uncomfortable fika of his life.

Willy lets himself in through the backdoor and isn’t surprised to see a box of assorted fikabröd on the island and the moka pot already on the stove. It’s confirmation enough, clear evidence of a flimsy disguise for what’s going to be a tough conversation.

“Wille!” And that’s his dad, sounding suspiciously too cheery, all things considered. He rounds the corner into the kitchen and grins at him while he pulls plates from the cupboard. “Here, I made sure there was a kanelbullar for you.” He plates the bun and slides it toward Willy.

“Thanks, Dad,” Willy says. He stands there awkwardly for a second before eventually deciding that he should start getting the coffee ready. There’s a pair of mugs on the drying rack, so Willy grabs those and checks the pot on the stove.

“Should be ready,” his dad pipes up. But then he’s at his side and ushering Willy away. “I’ll get the coffee. Take the plates to the table, I’ll meet you there.”

Willy does as he’s told and starts picking at his kanelbullar, tearing off little pieces of the outer layer and popping them in his mouth. It’s his favorite, but he isn’t completely feeling it, not when the nerves are floating in his stomach, already well off to killing his appetite.

His dad appears with the two mugs in hand and gently places one in front of Willy before settling in the chair corner to him. It should be familiar but Willy feels incredibly off-center.

But, his dad doesn’t push him. He quietly sips at his espresso and småkakor, doesn’t breathe a word.

So, Willy finally starts. “Dad,” he says, chest tight. “I’m sorry for behaving like I did at dinner.”

His dad takes a long sip from his mug and puts it down, considering, but with some note of finality. He nods while he still swallows, thinking before he speaks. “I appreciate it, because I know you know better.” He pauses to dip a cookie in his coffee. “And while it wasn’t necessarily okay, I understand that it’s a lot right now. You’re overwhelmed, and we aren’t quite ourselves when we aren’t alright.”

Willy doesn’t notice how tightly he’s gripping his mug until he feels his dad’s hand on his arm, a quiet gesture to get him to relax. He does, just a little, until he sighs and finally lets go, the tension leaving him until he feels less jaded, but a little more cut open.

“I just feel so out of water,” Willy finally confesses. It’s raw, more vulnerable than he’s used to, especially around his dad. He doesn’t he’ll cry, but it’s the same feeling, the same edge. He stares into his coffee, doesn’t look up.

He hears his dad shift in the following silence. “Wille?” It’s gentle, not quite the voice he uses when he comforts his sisters, but nearing that territory. “Will you look at me, please?”

Willy nods, then lifts his chin until he’s made eye contact with his dad. He really hopes his eyes don’t begin to water, now, because he’s here to make his case, and that’s the absolute last thing he needs right now.

“I’m proud of you, and I just want the best for you,” his dad says softly. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, if I can do anything to avoid it.”

And Willy knows this, really, he does. Has known it. But at the end of the day, he’s an adult and he doesn’t need his parents to look out for his happiness when he’s old enough, grown enough, to scout it out for himself.

He’s ready to take his own leaps of faith, ready to face his own mistakes as they come.

And that’s what he has to tell his dad.

“I know, Dad, I know,” Willy starts. It’s not easy, and he knows how shaky his voice is, but he trudges on, lays out his case. He tries not to read too into his dad’s facial expressions, tries to keep steady. And maybe it’s halfway just a performance, a strong front, but it’s halfway truth, genuine and real.

It’s not an easy conversation, but it happens, it does. Willy gets through it, and he survives it alright.

“I worry because I love you,” his dad says once it’s all talked out. “I’m here to help you, but you’re right. Ultimately, it’s your decision. And I’m confident that your mother and I raised you well enough to trust you with that.”

It’s the validation that Willy had been searching for, the final piece that he needed. His coffee has gone cold by now, but he still tears off a chunk of his kanelbullar and dunks it in the mug, finally able to savor his fika without the churning in his stomach.

~

It’s not ideal, but he and Kyle make do.

He facetimes Kyle as much as he can. It’s not as often as either of them would like, because timezones combined with work and training schedules aren’t too kind to them, but they make do whenever they can.

“You look exhausted,” Willy says, watches Kyle run his hand over his face once he’s taken off his glasses. Kyle had just gotten home, so Willy is content to watch him strip out of his suit and wiggle into pajamas; a soft cotton tee-shirt and sweatpants that may or may not have _29_ printed on the thigh. It’s a more than welcome sight.

 _“What are you smiling at?”_ Kyle laughs once he returns to his phone. _“It’s too early over there for you to look all fond.”_

“No way,” Willy laughs, “it’s the perfect time. I’m still sleepy and whatever, it’s the best time to be all soft,” he grins.

 _“I love it when you’re like that,”_ Kyle hums. _“Actually, I like you when you’re most ways, but. Especially like that.”_

“Yeah?”

 _“Extra good for kissing,”_ Kyle winks.

“Huh, that makes a lot of sense now,” Willy nods along, considering.

_“What does?”_

“Why you love making out in the morning,” he laughs, bright and uninhibited. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Kyle settles into a comfortable position in bed, readjusts his hold on his phone. He shrugs. _“I mean, I’m also not entirely picky. I’d make out with you all day if I could.”_

“Trust me, I know.” Willy watches him pull the blanket up to his chin. It’s entirely way too endearing. “In a perfect world that’s all we’d do.”

Something in Kyle’s eyes flicker, gradually go dark. Willy doesn’t miss the way he looks him over on the screen, slowly checking him out.

“Oh babe,” Willy’s voice goes low, a little playful. “It’s going to be that kind of night, huh?”

Kyle laughs a little awkwardly, but he doesn’t let up. _“I’m down if you are, babe.”_

“Always,” Willy confirms. “Now show me what you’ve got, Kyle Dubas.”

_“As you wish.”_

The angle of Kyle’s phone changes and Willy’s hand goes straight into his pants. Shameless.

Yeah, they make do.

~

It’s only a few days until he gets a text from Auston.

He’d actually been getting ready to go to bed, had just finished brushing his teeth and moisturizing his face. He’d been streaming music from his phone, so the _ping_ of the message startles him, stark against the low trappy beats that had steadily streamed from his sound system.

Curious, he lifts his phone until the screen illuminates.

_can we talk?_

Willy sighs. It’s not ideal, he likes to work himself up to these things, but. It’s Auston, it’s just Auston, and despite everything, he’s still one of his best friends. It’ll be okay. He finishes towel-patting his face and settles onto his couch, gets comfortable first.

He cuts the music and hits _Call_ next to Auston’s name.

 _“Hey,”_ is all Auston says, tentative, when he picks up.

“Hi,” Willy offers, a little lighter, as light as it can be, anyway. It’s one word, but it’s an invitation, a reassurance that he really is up to talk about this, to work themselves out.

 _“I didn’t mean what I said,”_ Auston finally says, and it’s fast, like the words just spill out all at once.

“I know,” Willy says just as quickly. “Two dudes feeling pretty low, not a great combo.”

 _“It wasn’t,”_ Auston agrees. _“But still, it was super uncalled for. And I’m sorry.”_

“I forgave you like three seconds after you said it,” Willy admits with a light laugh. “Besides, I should be more sympathetic. Injury fucking sucks. Physically, everyone knows, but mentally. I should know that, as your friend.”

 _“That’s not— No, it’s okay, Willy. We’re all dealing with shit, it’s not on you.”_ Auston tries, but Willy doesn't let him stammer about it for long.

“No, but I’m your friend and I want to be someone that there’s for you.” He shifts, gets a pillow in his lap, subconsciously hugs it close to himself.

There’s a pause, and it’s not awkward or anything, but Willy knows what it means. Knows that Auston’s thinking something out, working out some kind of emotion he’s not used to handling. So Willy waits patiently on the other end, content to just keep Auston company while he thinks.

Then, finally.

_“I just really fucking miss you, man.”_

Willy knows exactly how he feels. Truly, this time.

~

Ultimately, it’s Willy’s decision.

He’s heard it a million times; from his dad, from Kyle, from his agent, from management. From friends, from family, from strangers who tag him on the internet.

The whole world knows it, the whole world is keen to remind him of it. But when it comes down to it, it’s still incredibly hard for Willy to wrap his head around it.

Or maybe he’s just procrastinating his decision. Maybe it’s both.

The thing is, Willy knows where he stands, he knows what he wants. He knows who and what he believes, knows it’s just a matter of time. His agent and his dad have urged him to keep holding out, just in case they manage to break a deal.

But suddenly it’s December 1st, and Willy knows that the ‘ _ultimately your decision’_ thing is finally, really coming into play.

It’s just, without the guarantee in writing, everyone is skeptical. All Willy wants is to be a Maple Leaf until the day he puts down his stick for good. He wants his final unlacing to be in a Leafs uniform. He wants to grow old with this team, wants to bleed his heart out onto one very specific sheet of ice. But without the guarantee, anything could happen.

Part of Willy is scared for personal reasons, too. He trusts Kyle, he really does, but he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to recover if Kyle breaks his promise. He knows what he said to him, back at the restaurant in Zurich, but rationality doesn’t hold for long. Not when it’s a Nylander heart on the line.

If he sits, if he waits it out to get his written NTC, it’ll be in protection of his own heart, but he can’t help but realize the rest of the implications in that decision. He can’t help but realize where that puts him and Kyle.

Willy knows that Kyle’s hands are tied. He knows that Kyle was required to shop him, this close to the deadline. It’s what any general manager would do, and Kyle is still the general manager of one of the most lucrative franchises in professional sports. He has a career to protect. A role to play.

But Kyle had reiterated that his promises weren’t just from him. It’s from Leafs management, as a group. A professional decision. Part of the Big Plan.

So, at the end of the day — and it really is the end, just past ten at night — Willy gets in the car and drives to his parents’ house, determined to make his decision.

~

By the time Willy gets to the house, his sisters have been sent to bed and his dad is busy in the office with Gross already on the phone.

“I’ll take whatever deal is on the table,” is the first thing Willy says.

“Hello to you, too,” his dad shakes his head, but Willy knows that he’s more amused than anything else. “Cutting it right down to wire, always with the drama,” he tuts.

“I still have time,” Willy defends, “it isn’t over until the final buzzer, right, Coach?”

His dad gives him a very loaded look.

 _“Is that William?”_ and that’s Gross, piping up over the speakers.

“Hi, Lewis,” Willy calls out.

_“Okay, good. You sure you’re ready for this?”_

“Absolutely.”

_“Alright, then let’s get Dubas on the phone.”_

Willy settles into one of the office chairs, large and plush leather. It’s the kind that spins and has wheels, so naturally, Willy wiggles around in it restlessly. Anxiously. His dad is settled in an identical chair across the room, infinitely more poised. It’s all exterior, though, Willy knows that, can see it in his eyes.

The phone rings twice before Kyle picks up.

_“Hi, I was hoping I’d get this call.”_

The little shit. Willy tries to keep his face schooled and is a little proud when he succeeds.

_“Good afternoon, Kyle. This is Lewis Gross, and we also have Michael and William on the call, as well.”_

“Hey, Kyle,” Willy offers up. “Let’s make a deal.”

And, with time of the essence, they dive right in. There isn’t much to do negotiation-wise, they more or less take the deal that the Leafs last offered. Willy can’t help but poke a little fun at it, though, insists particularly on six point nine six nine. There isn’t enough time for anyone to scold him or deny him, not when the difference in amounts is barely pocket change, so they roll with it.

He can’t wait to wave that number around.

But for now, his dad is printing out the contract, checking each page to see if it needs a signature or initial before setting it to the side. When he finally comes across one that needs to be marked, he grabs a blue fountain pen from the desk and practically throws it at Willy.

“Initial this one,” he tells him. Willy takes it and starts the process of marking up necessary papers. Starts the process of locking in his future.

Kyle stays on the line, gets some more of his team on the conference call, too. They talk him through it and stick with him, careful not to rush him but mindful of the time constraint. By the time Willy’s signed the last page, big and proud, his dad is already halfway through scanning the pages and Leafs management is well on their way of putting it all together.

Willy glances at the clock. _22:49_ blinks back at him, just a little mockingly.

“Are we gonna make it?” Willy blurts, then immediately wants to take it back, once he hears himself.

 _“We’re going to make it,”_ Kyle says, tinny thought the speaker. He sounds so incredibly sure, and Willy knows he means it, trusts him a million times over now, but.

“Did you get it? Did you get it?” And again, Willy wishes he could shut himself up. Look, it’s desperate times and filtering is usually a conscious skill, he’s trying. “Did you get it?” Well, kind of trying.

There’s a beep on the other end, some shuffling around.

Then Kyle makes a noise, something along the lines of affirmative. Willy can practically picture his tired grin, satisfied from cheek to cheek.

“We got it,” Kyle says, breathless, like he’s just finished a marathon. “We got it.”

~

_see you soon babe **💙💙✈️** _

~

A lot happens in the time that follows, but the most important part is the end of it, where Willy steps into Pearson for the first time in months, tired and exhausted but feeling more at home than he ever has before.

He made it.

The Leafs send a correspondent to pick him up, but he doesn’t wait on them, already halfway done with loading his bags onto a cart by the time they find him. It’s fair, because he’s got his hood up and his hat down low. It’s been a ride of a past twenty-four hours, he’d like to avoid recognition as much as possible.

But they do find him eventually and they escort him to a waiting car, load his bags up for him, too. Willy ignores the media, but doesn’t bat them away, either. It’s typical Toronto, so it’s almost kind of nice, a roundabout reminder of where he is, where he’s _returned._

Kappy’s home when he gets there, and he was obviously expecting him, but _expecting_ is entirely different than having your best friend back after months apart, right there in front of you instead of through a pixely screen.

“Willy, you _asshole,_ welcome back,” Kappy says, on him before Willy even shuts the door. It’s a real hug, a strong one where Kappy squeezes and doesn’t hold back. It knocks the wind out of Willy, just a little, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He drops his shit and hugs him back, holds on tight.

They chat for a bit, catching up on dumb stuff; pranks in the locker room, who’s still seeing who, drunken team nights out and all the scandals that come with. Kappy microwaves some leftover chicken and pasta for them while Willy starts airing out his room and unpacking his shit.

It’s easy and familiar. Welcoming. A reminder that this is _home,_ for the next six years, at least, and hopefully then some.

They’re long done with their food, just shooting the shit at the table, when Willy’s phone pings. He takes one glance, reads it quickly, then takes it as his cue to start clearing the table.

“Plans?” Kappy asks suspiciously, looking pointedly toward Willy’s phone where it’s strategically set facedown on the table.

Willy once again is thankful for his lifelong media training, for he manages to keep his face from going red and giving away too much. He smirks over his shoulder while he rinses off the dishes.

“Something like that.”

~

_just got out of the office, meet me at my place whenever youre ready_ **😘😏**

~

Willy has a key, but he knocks. One more time for old time’s sake.

Twice in quick succession. A pause. One more.

It takes a minute, but eventually he hears a bit of shuffling, the slip of the lock, and then the door opens and Kyle’s right there, grinning at him like he’s the only thing he’s ever meant to look at.

“Welcome home,” Kyle beams.

Willy barely gets a second to take him in — to admire his shirt with the top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up — before he’s pushing his way past the front door and pressing him up against the wall, kissing him like he’s starving for it.

“I really fucking missed you,” Willy murmurs, all confessional. He buries his face in the crook of Kyle’s neck, takes in his cologne, his essence, and feels a million times better once it’s processed through his head. He holds him close, can’t even fathom ever letting go again. “I don’t even know how I survived, I missed you that much.”

And, as dramatic as he usually is, Willy really _is_ telling the truth. The last time he’d been in this room, there’d been some yelling, some not-so-nice things said from both sides. It’s hard to believe it was only a few months ago, because after everything they’ve been through, it feel ages away.

Ages and ages where, for most of it, an ocean and a six hour time difference had separated them. Where Willy hadn’t been able to touch Kyle, to feel him or hold him and have him physically by his side. He’d felt lost, like a piece a piece of him was missing, like he couldn’t truly be or exist without it. It felt like a critical organ was missing, and its absence had been slowly killing him from the inside out.

But that’s okay, because there’s a hand in his hair, lips kissing his forehead, and it’s like Willy’s been defibrillated and brought right back to life.

“I’m never letting you go ever again,” Kyle murmurs into his hair, absolutely sincere, “never, ever again.”

He gets a hand on each side of Willy’s face and gently angles him until he can kiss him over and over and over again.

Willy doesn’t do it on purpose, but he doesn’t care to take it back when he does. He grinds his growing erection into Kyle’s thigh, a reflex, really. But Kyle’s reaction is telling enough, the involuntary groan all that Willy needs to hear to know.

Kyle knows it, too.

“Come on,” he says, breathy and strained. “Bedroom,” he manages, just barely. “ _Now,_ please.”

Willy grins devilishly and happily obliges.

~

It’s winter now, so it’s still dark out when Willy eventually wakes up. Kyle’s floor-to-ceiling windows seem like a waste without the sun to streak the room in those familiar long golden hues that Willy has come to love.

But that’s alright, because there’s still something familiar here. The smell of breakfast.

Willy wanders out into the kitchen to find two mugs of steaming coffee resting by the Keurig and Kyle standing at the stove. He grins. “Morning, master chef,” Willy grabs a mug and takes it to the island, easily slipping into his favorite barstool, left clear like it’s been reserved just for him all this time.

“Hi,” Kyle says, doesn’t even hide it when he looks over his shoulder and checks Willy out. But it’s alright, because Willy returns the favor. Kyle’s bedhead is all over the place, little pieces sticking up all over the place.

He’s in nothing but a nondescript cotton tee, just a little wrinkled, and soft boxers, a little flowy and looser than the kind Willy wears. It’s a rare sight, even for Willy, and he’s hit with a wave on contentedness, knowing that he gets to have this again and for the foreseeable future.

Kyle winks at him but stays put. That’s alright, because Willy is comfortable just admiring the view, just taking it all in again and soaking in the normalcy of it. The permanency, even.

Eventually, Kyle’s sliding a plate of bacon and eggs across the island and leaning over it to kiss Willy once, closed mouth and chaste.

This is it, these are the moments that Willy wants to live for.

He wants this forever, and isn’t shocked to realize how possible that might actually be.

~

As far as PR knows, Willy hasn’t seen Kyle since Zurich, and he certainly hasn’t seen him this morning. So Willy leaves Kyle’s place early enough to go home and change into a proper suit before meeting him again at the ACC— er, the Scosh? Another thing he’ll have to get used to.

The marketing media team is on him immediately, giving him the rundown of everything they’re doing today. Toronto media is already scrummed up, but there’s a few shots PR wants to get for Leafs Nation Network. Just to really capture the whole of Willy’s homecoming narrative, or whatever.

So they lead him up to Kyle’s big office, the one with the stark white furniture and the sleek black built-ins. He’d been around when they just started redecorating it, but he’d never seen the finished product.

It’s so incredibly reminiscent of Kyle it almost hurts, being enveloped by a new space that somehow feels so much like home.

Kyle’s on the couch when he enters, but he stands instantly, face lighting up. Willy knows the cameras are right behind him, so he keeps his business stance up, goes in for the handshake.

But Kyle isn’t having any of that. He’s unconventional, for sure, but Willy is always surprised whenever he pushes the envelope. He goes for the hug and Willy drops the hand immediately, easily shifts into wrapping his arms around him and hugging him right back.

Whatever Kyle is doing works, because Willy feels the tension leave him instantly, melting out of his muscles until it’s easy and natural. Until he feels at home.

That’s the narrative, after all, but more importantly it’s what Kyle ultimately wants for him. It’s a comfort.

“Hey,” Kyle whispers in his ear while he pats his back, close enough that the camera can’t see. “We’ve got this, babe.”

They do a bit of catching up, light, surface conversation just so LNN has some B-roll to work with. It’s not difficult, falling into it with Kyle. The laughter is real, it’s all natural. The smiles and grins so instinctive that Willy doesn’t even realize they’re doing it until PR thanks them for their good work.

“Alright, let’s go downstairs for media. We’re live streaming, so please be thoughtful in your answers. Please,” the PR manager is looking mostly at Willy, so he nods, promises to be careful with what he says. Sure, he’s a little rusty but he’s been media trained his whole entire life, he’s got this.

Willy is up first, and it’s familiar enough. They’re all questions that he’d prepared for, that PR had sent over and gone through with him before his flight back. It’s been a while since he’s been interviewed in English, though, so he maybe lets a few too many _‘I mean’_ s slip by, but he thinks he does pretty well overall.

That is, until someone asks the golden question.

Willy is so sure that he doesn't even think twice before the answer leaves his lips. “Kyle has told me multiple times that as long as he’s here he’s not going to trade me.”

He knows how it sounds. He sees the way the media gives him a sympathetic look, but Willy knows how much Kyle means it, he knows. And that’s all that really matters here. The media can talk all they want, but the only way that matters is the one between Kyle and Willy and nobody else.

There’s a second between his and Kyle’s scrums, just a brief moment where Willy has Kyle alone, where he pulls him aside, a little worried. “Was it bad that I mentioned it?”

He doesn’t have to specify, knows Kyle will know.

“No, not at all. You did good,” Kyle says, then leans in closer.

It’s dumb and it’s dangerous but Kyle looks around once in a poor attempt to make sure they’re clear. Then it’s quick, Kyle grabs his chin and kisses him, firm but fleeting. Willy doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he’s already pulling away. He blinks.

“I’ll be right back,” Kyle promises. “Watch my scrum, alright?”

So Willy does, he hangs back even though PR tells him that he can start heading out. It’s not difficult, watching Kyle speak so smoothly to the media in the way he does. He has a way of capturing people’s attention, of drawing them in, and even Willy is not immune.

It isn’t long before the question comes up, but Kyle doesn’t miss a beat, more than prepared for it. “I don’t know why that surprises anyone. It’s on record. The record should matter to people in here.” Kyle sets his jaw and looks so in control it almost makes Willy’s face go hot, media training be damned.

Kyle hadn’t looked at him yet, but this time he manages to spare a glance in his direction, quick and almost unnoticeable, but incredibly meaningful to Willy.

Standing here, in the heart of Toronto surrounded by people with endless doubts and criticisms, Willy still knows.

He knows Kyle means it.

_( the end. )_

**Author's Note:**

> Congrats everyone, Willy is _finally_ home! Thank you for coming on this wild ride with me, I hope you enjoyed and I'd love to hear your thoughts! 
> 
> I just want to shoutout everyone who's indulged me in talking about Kyle/Willy, but especially to Abby for cheerleading while I wrote this and for letting me chatfic ideas out at her 💙 And to everyone who witnessed me screaming about Kyle and Willy in realtime via twitter, thank you for putting up with me. For those of you who were fortunate enough to dodge my freakout, you can find me @[pinkmanite](http://www.twitter.com/pinkmanite)
> 
> ([BONUS:](http://yammertime.tumblr.com/post/180867744489/) Here's my gifset of the LNN video because WOW it was A LOT and I think everyone should appreciate the visual of my favorite rarepair being out here like that)
> 
> (Bonus bonus: when you take into account two anon fics, this is my 69th work on the archive. That one's for you, Willy, hope I made ya proud)


End file.
